Please
by meetmeatthecoda
Summary: A take on the last scene of 2x18, when Red gets shot. Liz's thoughts and reactions. Lizzington.


"Yes, I'm the one who hired Tom Keen to enter your life."

Cold horror rushed through her body in one fluid motion. Liz rocked backwards on her heels, trying to find her balance, her center of gravity. It used to be Red. Red was her center. But no, not anymore. He had shoved her out into space and she was flailing, falling.

Why would he do this? Hurt her. She was so sure. So sure that there was a part of him, a small part, that he reserved just for her. Lizzie. His Lizzie.

[Ever since she was a little girl, Liz has wanted to belong. She never would have guessed what she really wanted was to belong to someone else. But if she is to be possessed by anyone, she wants it to be Raymond Reddington.]

"Can I explain?"

"No, you can not explain!"

How could anything he might have to say make any of this better? Words aren't stitches. Not his words. And not for wounds this deep.

"Here. This is all you wanted. Now you have it."

And she knew it. All along. She did. She also knows she can trust him. She knows he never lies to her. She knows he never tells her the truth. She what does she know, really? At the end of the day, all she knows for sure is that she doesn't really know anything at all. She doesn't know her parents, her birthday, her name. So how could she know Red's heart?

"Lizzie, when I hired Tom-"

"I said please do not attempt to explain why. I don't care why. I want this to stop. I want this all to stop right now."

Right now, at this moment, the weight of all the emptiness he's left and all the things she doesn't know are pushing on her. Down, down, down. How is she supposed to do this? Stop. Just make it stop.

"Take it!"

The harsh screech of her voice surprises them both. She throws the fulcrum onto his car and whirls around, face contorting in an effort to keep hot tears from falling. Because once they do, she's not sure if they will ever stop.

"Lizzie. Lizzie!"

She's never heard his voice sound like that. It's sharp as a blade and so desperate. She almost turns. Any other day she never would have left in the first place. Any other day she wouldn't know the truth. The horrible, bone-chilling truth.

She gets in the car, shaking hands trying to turn the key, the wheel, anything. Turn away. Away from him. His face is white, scared. Scared of what, she wonders. Not of losing her, surely. Raymond Reddington doesn't care about anyone but himself.

When she hears the ear-splitting crack, she would have thought it was her heart, finally snapping under the weight of everything she does and doesn't feel for him. She would have thought that if she didn't see Red's big, imposing, impenetrable form fall to the ground, limp, like a puppet whose strings were suddenly and unceremoniously cut. But no, she is his puppet. He is the master. Always. So why is he on the ground?

She is out of the car before she registers her legs are moving, giving no thought to the sniper who may very well be aiming for her next. What does it matter when Red is on the ground wearing red? He never wears red. She does. Scarves, shirts, sweaters. His color. She can't help it. She wears it unconsciously. That's how far deep he's in her.

But today she is wearing white. And black. But white is what she whips off to stem the flow. She tries to ignore how it looks, the red staining the white. She should have worn red.

Dembe is there. Of course. She sees his dark hands against, under, with her pale ones. Why is it colors become so much more evident with fear?

And she is scared. Terrified. She may pretend Red's life means nothing.

 _He's my C.I., my informant, he's not my buddy, not my friend, I hate him, but I love him._

But he cannot die. That's the only thing she knows. There's much he hasn't told her. He needs to explain. Why didn't she let him explain? If he never tells her a story, holds her, kisses her, ever again.

The thought makes her eyes burn again. And her lungs. She's gasping for air, just like Red. So much red, staining her hands now. Her cold hands. She didn't think she could feel colder than when he told her. But this. This is colder than death. Is Red this cold? God. Red.

She never told him. How she feels. Maybe because she herself doesn't know how she feels but she could have tried. She should have tried. He would have understood. He always understands.

"An ambulance is on its way." Dembe murmurs from beside her, pocketing a cell phone. Liz hadn't even noticed him call.

She tries to look up at him. She does. But she can't tear her eyes away from Red's white, white face. Dembe sounds like she feels. Choked, crushed, shocked. Scared.

"How long?"

"Ten."

Shit. She squeezes her eyes shut, unintentionally pushing more tears out. They fall onto Dembe's hands, which are on top of her hands, which are on top of the hole in Red's chest. Too long. Too long.

"Red. Can you hear me? Don't leave me. Don't you dare fucking leave me. If you die, I will kill you! God damn you, Red!"

She babbles nonsense, for her own benefit really, rather than Red's, while Dembe murmurs things to him in another language. She wonders if they make more sense than her own words. Probably.

As their combined voices gain volume over the sound of the approaching sirens, Red's eyes flicker underneath his eyelids. They open a crack and he squints up at her. He can't speak, there's too much blood in his mouth, but she can see his pale lips form her name.

"Lizzie."

"Red? Red, I'm here. So is Dembe. Don't worry, the ambulance is almost here. You're gonna be fine."

She says this even as he coughs up more blood and she watches it drip down the side of his face and soak the shoulder of his coat.

That'll never come out, she thinks deliriously.

"You're gonna be okay." she whispers miserably, a fresh wave of tears drenching her face and the jumble of hands upon Red's chest.

Red turns one of his own hands palm-up, laying on the ground next to him, and his fingers twitch weakly. She understands immediately. She places one of her red hands into his own and squeezes.

"Please don't leave me." she whispers.

As the ambulance pulls up with a screech of tires, Liz leans forward and gently places her forehead against Red's. Red gives a little sigh. She closes her eyes.

"I love you."

Then they pull him away from her and Dembe holds her back while they load him into the ambulance. She's crying and he's rubbing her back and thinks she sees a few tears on his face too but then they are closing the doors to the ambulance. Dembe looks at her and she nods and no words are needed. He gets into his car and she gets into hers and they take off, Dembe following the ambulance and Liz following Dembe.

And all she can do is drive and wipe the tears from her face and think please.

Please.


End file.
